The Midnight Choir Read Online Free PDF Page A

her legs closed, to accuse—’
    ‘It might indeed help, Mrs Hapgood, if you have anything that might help explain—’
    ‘Maeve—’ Max Senior’s voice carried a touch of annoyance.
    Mrs Hapgood turned her head away, as though the very sight of Synnott was offensive.
    Rose Cheney had her legs crossed, her notebook resting casually against one knee, her pen moving . . . silly bitch who has . . . to accuse . . .
    Harry Synnott said, ‘I appreciate your decision to await legal advice before making a formal statement – and, incidentally, I agree that that’s what you should do – but there are certain technicalities we ought to get out of the way while we’re waiting.’
    ‘Such as?’ Max Senior said.
    ‘We’ll need the clothes that young Max was wearing last night.’
    ‘No chance.’
    ‘I know it’s an imposition, but I’m afraid it’s necessary. And we’d rather do it quietly – no need to have hordes of uniformed members arriving in squad cars, all the hullabaloo of a formal search.’
    Mrs Hapgood stared at Synnott. ‘This is outrageous.’
    ‘And perhaps, since it’s an obvious matter of interest to us, young Max could explain where he got those scratches on his forehead?’
    Max Senior shook his head. ‘That has to—’
    ‘He was drunk.’ Mrs Hapgood said. ‘It happens with young men. He was drunk, he tripped on his way in last night, he scratched his face on the bushes outside the front door. OK?’
    Harry Synnott said, ‘That’s indeed a help, Mrs Hapgood. It’s just that we have to clear things up, and if there’s a reasonable explanation—’
    Rose Cheney was scribbling away.
    ‘As you can see, Inspector, my wife is upset. I really think, until my solicitor—’
    Synnott said to Max Junior, ‘Might I see the letter?’
    Max Senior said, ‘What letter?’
    ‘This young woman, we understand, wrote to you recently.’
    The parents were looking at young Max. ‘It was just a note, last week. I binned it.’ He shrugged. ‘No big deal. Just a note. She’s like, will I give her a ring, that’s all.’
    Synnott could hear the scratching of Cheney’s biro. Teresa’s letter wouldn’t be a problem.
    *
    There was a different sergeant on the desk at Cooper Street when they took Dixie Peyton out into the yard of the garda station to board the bus to court. ‘What about my phone call – the other sergeant was making a call for me?’ The sergeant ignored her.
    ‘You can call from Mountjoy,’ a young garda said. There were three other prisoners ahead of Dixie, all of them women caught shoplifting. She stopped at the door of the Mercedes minibus and turned to the garda. ‘He should have been here by now. Mr Synnott should have been here.’ She looked back and through the doorway she saw the original desk sergeant passing behind the counter in the public office. He was wearing an overcoat. She said to the garda at the minibus, ‘Look, I need—’ He took her by the elbow and guided her firmly through the open door of the bus. ‘Off you go, love.’
    The sergeant saw the door of the bus close behind Dixie Peyton and he swore silently.
    Memory like a bloody sieve. Meant to call Turner’s Lane again.
    He was tired, his back hurt, he resented having to use his lunch break to go to a bookshop to buy a study guide for his son who didn’t fancy a trip into town because the traffic was shite. As the bus pulled away, he went back behind the counter and picked up the phone. He couldn’t remember the number of Turner’s Lane and he was about to say the hell with it. Instead, he swore and began thumbing through the station directory.
    *
    The garda who took the call at Turner’s Lane was young, blonde and blue-eyed, just five weeks out of Templemore. She mentally shuffled the faces of the detectives.
    Harry Synnott. The one with the bockety nose. Forty-somethingish. He just transferred out of here, right?
    ‘Listen, hold on, I’ll get someone.’
    She’d seen Synnott twice in